I got old today. The spry birch branch of my spine bent. Bent not to wind, but to weariness. One minute young, next second old. The air escaped, something went out of me. Leaving not wisdom but ashes. I observed all this, the detail of it, Like a banker taking account. Sure I was disappointed. But what in the world are you gonna do? Eyes of brown, eyes of blue... the graying of all of you... only the pin point black in the pupil freshly alert to the dying light. I always wanted to fly. And yet I'm late arriving. Circled the block a dozen times. Afraid you'd see it. Afraid you wouldn't. My face: a roadmap with all the bridges gone. As you try to cross from your side to mine one dead end leads to another. The sign at the milemarker: Baltimore/Exit Only.
Reason for writing:
imagined being the patient witness to my own aging...
instead of arriving in heaven I find Baltimore!
Birth sign: Capricorn
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